Boundaries
2080 Words
G. Entertainment always smelled expensive.
Not perfume exactly. Just money. Polished floors. Cold air conditioning. Coffee that probably cost more than it should. Even the lobby music sounded curated.
I stepped out of the car and adjusted the sleeve of my black blouse before turning to Tolu.
“I’ll call you when I’m done.”
Tolu nodded. “Try not to argue with him today.”
I looked at him. “You say that like he isn’t usually the one arguing with me.”
Tolu only smiled.
I walked to the entrance and pushed my sunglasses up into my hair as security waved me through.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with movement. Staff crossing from one office to another. Assistants balancing phones and coffee trays. Music floated faintly from somewhere deeper in the building.
A few heads turned immediately. That part still felt strange sometimes.
Not the recognition. I’d gotten used to that years ago. The attention. People noticed everything after the award.
“Muna.”
I looked up just in time for Fola to pull me into a side hug before I could dodge it.
“You’re alive,” he said dramatically.
“Unfortunately.”
“That press briefing was chaos. I didn’t even get to say congratulations properly.”
“You texted me.”
“That doesn’t count.”
I laughed despite myself.
He stepped back, looking me over like he was personally inspecting my recovery from fame.
“You’ve become difficult to access.”
“I was unavailable for less than four days.”
“Exactly. Tragic.”
Fola had been trying to ask me out for almost a year now.
Not aggressively. Just consistently.
Dinner invitations. Random check-ins. Studio drop-bys that definitely weren’t accidental.
At first I thought he’d stop eventually. Instead, he somehow became more committed to the bit.
“You know,” he continued, walking beside me toward the elevators, “at this point I deserve at least one pity date.”
“You’re twenty-two.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is in this context.”
His hand pressed briefly against his chest. “You judge me for my youth.”
“I judge you for refusing to focus.”
“See? This is why artists date other artists. You should understand me.”
“I understand you perfectly. That’s the problem.”
He laughed under his breath.
A stylist passing by stopped to greet me quickly.
“Congrats again, Muna.”
“Thank you.”
Another voice followed almost immediately.
“You disappeared too fast after the briefing.”
“They practically dragged me out,” I replied.
“That’s because people were losing their minds.”
“Still are,” Fola muttered.
I ignored that part.
The elevator doors opened. And immediately, I wished they hadn’t.
Emma stepped out first. Of course.
The other members of L.O.V.E.R followed behind her in matching rehearsal clothes, conversation cutting off the moment they saw me standing there.
Nobody spoke. Emma’s eyes moved over me once before sliding away dismissively.
I looked elsewhere too. Not because it hurt. Because I was tired.
There were only so many ways a person could communicate:
You don’t belong here.
Emma had mastered all of them.
The first year I joined G. Entertainment, she’d smiled at me during rehearsal and said:
Must be nice skipping the hard part.
I was sixteen at the time. Still naïve enough to pretend I misunderstood her.
Fola glanced between all of us awkwardly as the group walked past.
“Well,” he murmured once the doors shut behind us, “that felt deeply spiritual.”
I snorted softly.
The elevator climbed steadily upward.
By the time it reached the executive floor, Fola stepped out first.
“Tell your terrifying CEO I said hi.”
“You tell him yourself.”
“I like being employed.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“And yet lovable.”
“That remains unconfirmed.”
The doors slid shut again before he could answer.
The executive level always felt quieter than the rest of the building. Less noise. Less movement.
Like stress itself had to lower its voice up here.
Damola looked up immediately when I approached the reception desk.
“Hi,” she said warmly. “Congratulations, superstar.”
I groaned softly. “Please don’t start.”
“It’s too late. You won Best Artist. We’re all unbearable now.”
“That sounds dangerous,” I said.
“It is for Shayo especially.”
I smiled. “How bad?”
“He threatened to throw somebody’s phone into the lagoon this morning.”
“That actually sounds believable.”
Damola laughed.
I headed toward Tomade’s office and knocked once before opening the door.
Shayo sat across from the desk with a tablet in hand.
Tomade looked up briefly.
“Hi,” I said.
“Morning,” Shayo replied.
Tomade gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Sit.”
I noticed his posture immediately. Most people wouldn’t have. But I did.
One shoulder sat slightly tighter than the other. The careful stillness in the way he leaned back.
Rain this morning.
My eyes lingered for barely a second before I sat down.
Shayo tapped the tablet screen.
“Bimbola’s team agreed to the revised terms.”
“That was fast.”
“They want you badly,” he said.
Tomade’s expression remained neutral.
“But their offer still doesn’t compare to what Stromer’s team is proposing.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“It’s a supporting role.”
“In a Stromer production,” Tomade replied calmly. “That distinction matters.”
“It’s still supporting.”
“It’s still Hollywood.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“You also have scenes requiring French dialogue,” he added. “We both know that isn’t an issue for you.”
A small smile slipped out before I could stop it.
“Thanks to my mother.”
French had existed in my childhood almost as naturally as English. My mother slipped between both languages so easily that eventually I did too. Spanish came later.
Mostly curiosity.
Shayo placed the tablet down in front of me.
“There are concerns about Bimbola’s project.”
I looked down at the screen. Industry forum. Anonymous posts. Actor reports.
My stomach tightened slightly as I read further.
The lead actor. Lingering contact during scenes. Unscripted touching. Actresses complaining privately but refusing to go public.
“That could be exaggerated,” I said carefully.
“Could be,” Shayo replied.
Tomade’s eyes stayed on me. “Or it could not.”
“It isn’t even a romance plot,” I argued. “We barely have physical scenes.”
“Really?”
I looked at him.
“Have you actually read the script properly?”
“Yes.”
“Page twenty-eight,” he said evenly. “He carries your character over the fence during the escape scene.”
I blinked.
“Page forty-six. Close-contact sequence in the hideout.”
Shayo lowered his eyes slightly like he already knew where this conversation was going.
“Page eighty-five,” Tomade continued. “The reunion scene.”
“That’s literally a hug.”
“Exactly.”
I stared at him.
“Tommy.”
His expression didn’t change.
“Isn’t that part of the job?”
“You know that isn’t the point.”
I folded my arms.
“You can’t protect me from every uncomfortable person in this industry.”
“I know.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re trying to?”
“Because you still treat risk like theory.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
I looked away briefly toward the windows.
Victoria Island stretched beneath us in silver-grey layers under the clouds.
“I think Stromer’s project starts in six months,” I said eventually.
“It does.”
“That clashes with Bimbola’s production.”
“Yes.”
“Could they move it forward?”
Shayo answered before Tomade could.
“Asking an international production to restructure timelines for a supporting actress wouldn’t reflect well on us.”
I ignored the supporting actress part entirely.
“And my itinerary?” I asked. “Entourage?”
“We’ll put together a full team,” Tomade replied. “Stylists. Security. PR support.”
“And you?”
His gaze held mine steadily.
“Shayo will go with you. Tolu too.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Bode’s already in Los Angeles,” Shayo added smoothly. “He’ll help you settle.”
I barely acknowledged him.
“You work remotely most of the time anyway,” I said to Tomade. “You have directors. Unit managers. A board.”
“And a company to run.”
I tilted my head slightly.
“Accompanying me would really damage the image that much?”
“Yes.”
I almost smiled.
“I’m pretty sure everybody already knows you’re more than just my boss.”
Something shifted slightly in his expression.
Small. Controlled. Dangerous anyway.
“And that,” he said calmly, “is exactly why boundaries matter.”
I leaned back again.
“SWAT already exists, Tommy.”
Shayo rubbed briefly at his forehead. Tomade’s eyes remained on mine.
“You know what people are saying.”
“Of course I do.”
Special Ward Advantage Treatment.
Sometimes Special Ward Access Treatment.
The internet kept inventing versions.
The meaning stayed the same.
I got opportunities because I belonged to him somehow.
Or because he pitied me.
Or because he was obsessed with controlling my career.
People changed the narrative depending on the week.
“Muna,” he said carefully, “think about it longer.”
I looked down at my fingers.
“We have two weeks before Stromer needs an answer. Bimbola expects feedback next week.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“Whatever you decide after this, I won’t push again.”
That made me look up.
“Choose for yourself,” he continued. “Not for me.”
Something uncomfortable moved quietly through my chest.
“You can’t choose both.”
Shayo’s phone rang before I could respond.
He glanced at the screen immediately and stood.
“I need to take this.”
Tomade nodded once.
The door closed behind him.
I stayed where I was for a moment before getting up slowly.
“Okay, Tommy. I heard you.”
I moved around the desk and stopped behind his chair.
His shoulders looked tense. More than usual.
My hands rested lightly against them before he could stop me.
His body stiffened instantly.
“Muna.”
“I know.”
My fingers pressed gently against the tension gathered there.
“You want what’s best for me.”
He didn’t move away immediately.
The city hummed faintly beyond the windows.
“I chose this industry,” I said softly. “I know what comes with it.”
His head tilted slightly downward.
“I’ll seriously think about it.”
After a few seconds, he reached up and removed my hands carefully from his shoulders.
But his fingers stayed around mine. Longer than necessary.
Not tight. Just there.
He looked up at me finally.
“Do what’s best for you,” he said quietly. “I don’t want sentiment making the decision for you.”
Something about that felt unfair.
“Sure,” I answered anyway.
The door opened again as Shayo stepped back inside. I returned to my seat before either of them could say anything.
“Are you done with the song?” Tomade asked.
“Almost.”
“The birthday’s in less than two months. You said you wanted the release around then.”
“I know.”
“You’ll still need studio sessions.”
“I’m aware.”
“Let me know once it’s done.”
I grinned slightly. “Yes, boss.”
Shayo snorted softly.
I stood, reaching for my bag.
“I should go. Tolu’s downstairs.”
“You have something after this?” Shayo asked.
“Birthday photoshoot prep this weekend.”
I lifted both hands dramatically. “The big twenty-one.”
Tomade watched me for a second too long.
“Okay.”
I turned toward the door.
“Muna.”
I looked back.
“You still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday.”
A smile pulled briefly at my mouth.
“I told you I’ll let you know soon.”
And before he could ask again, I walked out.
- Writer
